


The Simple Secret of the Plot

by Mithen



Category: DCU Animated
Genre: Dancing, First Date, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark and Bruce's first date.  This story refers to a scene in the JLU episode "This Little Piggy," in which Batman is forced to sing "Am I Blue" in a Greek nightclub in order to break a spell on Diana.  You can see the scene <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57zFkL9GSZA">here</a>, and really, it's worth watching.  Notice, though, that the nightclub's audience is made up entirely of male couples, and is specifically set on the island of Mykonos, which is famous as being one of the most gay-friendly Greek islands. Yes, Batman is singing a torch song in a gay bar.  This called for fic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Simple Secret of the Plot

Superman was hovering about seven and a half feet behind him. Batman tried to seem oblivious of this fact as he worked on the Watchtower's security systems, delicately picking his way through the wiring. He was, however, acutely--and annoyingly--aware of the Kryptonian's presence. He soldered a wire, watching the metal soften and melt.

Bruce wasn't exactly sure when things had started to tip out of balance with Clark, when the delicate equilibrium they had constructed had begun to wobble alarmingly. There was no exact moment one could point to, no revelation or epiphany. Just a slow-dawning realization that he enjoyed Clark's company more than anyone else's, that he wanted to spend even more time with him.

It might, Bruce supposed, have been the day that Dick had said something particularly funny and Bruce's first thought had been _I'll have to remember to tell Clark that one later._ But no, that had only been one of the early warning signs. It had all been so gradual, there was no sense of a threshold being crossed.

Until now.

Superman cleared his throat. Batman didn't turn around. "Yes?"

"I heard about a great nightclub from Zatanna. Good food, good music. Would you like to go there tomorrow?"

"With you?" Bruce kept his voice brusque and Superman chuckled.

"Yes, with me."

"Hrm." Bruce poked at the maze of wires thoughtfully. Superman showed no inclination to go away while he stalled.

Which was good, because then Batman would have to chase him down to accept, and that would just be embarrassing.

"Okay," Batman said as nonchalantly as possible, and accidentally crossed two wrong wires. Incandescent sparks flew everywhere, and Batman growled. "Now go away, you're distracting me."

"I'll pick you up at noon. Wear a tux."

"Wait, noon?"

"The nightclub's in Greece," Superman explained. He leaned forward and flicked one of the cowl's pointed ears with a light _ping_. "See you tomorrow."

Air eddied in his wake, leaving Bruce thinking furiously. A nightclub in Greece? That _Zatanna_ had told him about? It couldn't be-- She wouldn't-- Well, she would, but still, it _couldn't_ be--

 **: : :**

It was.

Bruce actually groaned out loud when the teleporter set them down on Mykonos. The island was cloaked in shimmering twilight, purple dusk making the white walls of the city gleam, but Bruce had no eye for beauty at the moment.

Well, no eye for beautiful _scenery_ , he amended mentally as Clark Kent stepped out of the alley to admire the view, his hands in his pockets. The man was looking obscenely good in a tuxedo that showed off his broad shoulders and trim waist--no ill-fitting suits tonight. Clark looked back at him and arched an eyebrow. "Don't blame Zatanna," he said as if he could hear Bruce's dire thoughts. "She told me the name of the place, but I had already seen the video on YouTube."

"On--" Bruce choked on outrage.

"--Don't worry," said Clark. "Everyone thinks it's just a cosplay." He leaned forward, smiling. "But _I_ know your voice."

He hooked an arm through Bruce's, shaking his head when Bruce stiffened. "Bruce, look around. Do you think we stand out at all?"

Bruce scanned the crowd, noting the happy smiles, the mix of nationalities. No one was looking at them. Same-sex couples seemed to outnumber straight couples on Mykonos, and almost all of the couples were a lot more openly affectionate than the two of them. Bruce watched a two young women with their hands in each others' jeans pockets go by. "Yes, we do. We're the only people in tuxes," he grumbled, but he didn't shake Clark's arm off.

Together they strolled through the rosy Grecian dusk until they came to a dark wood door set in a pristine white wall with a mosaic above it saying "Montparnasse Piano Bar." "Ah, Mr. Kent," murmured the maitre d' as they walked in. "Your table is ready."

The interior was surprisingly stately and formal. A pianist was playing "Cry Me a River" as pairs of people in tuxedos--mostly men--listened, talked, and ate. A few couples were on the dance floor, arms around each other.

The waiter brought them stuffed grape leaves, olives, bread, and two glasses of tawny retsina. Bruce had expected the dinner would be uncomfortable and fraught with awkward silences, but instead they got talking about Greek mythology, the Ottoman Empire, Barbary corsairs and Moorish architecture, ending up in an argument about whether the Mezquita in Cordoba or the Alhambra in Grenada were finer examples of the style. "Well, we'll just have to go to both of them together and compare," Clark finally said after a rather heated exchange about crenellated arches.

"All right then, we will," Bruce snapped, only realizing when Clark grinned that he seemed to have committed to another date. Or maybe two. Which reminded him that _this_ was apparently an official date.

He took another sip of retsina, feeling uneasy. This was going smoothly. _Too_ smoothly. There had to be a catch.

"I'm not going to sing," he announced abruptly as the waiter cleared off the dishes.

"Of course not," Clark said. He cleared his throat and a nervous flicker went across his face. "However, _I_ am," he added as he stood up.

This seemed to have been arranged in advance; Clark went to the piano and picked up a microphone, nodding to the pianist. Then, as the lights dimmed and the piano started a new tune, he went to the small stage and stepped into the spotlight that appeared on it. The crowd hushed as the Clark lifted the microphone and started to sing:

 _If they asked me, I could write a book  
About the way you walk and whisper and look..._

Of course he had perfect pitch and a clear, light tenor that seemed to cradle the listener. " _I could write a preface on how we met, so the world would never forget,_ " he sang, with a somewhat wry look at Bruce. Bruce hid his smile in his retsina; it had hardly been "meet-cute." More like "meet-alpha-male-posturing."

On the stage, Clark twirled the microphone suavely and went on: " _And the simple secret of the plot..._ "

His voice faltered and he paused, looking uncertain for the first time, as if not sure whether he should continue.

Bruce raised his eyebrows at him and made a small shooing gesture: _Go on._

A smile touched the corners of Clark's mouth, warmed his eyes. Shaking his head affectionately, he belted out the next line with panache: " _...is just to tell them that I love you a lot."_ The piano banged out the big chords and he launched into the last lines of the song: _"Then the world discovers, as my book ends--how to make two lovers of friends."_

He handed back the microphone to warm applause from the audience and came back to their table, his cheeks just a bit flushed. "There, now we've both made fools of ourselves here," he said a little breathlessly. "We're even." He held out his hand as the strains of "Taking a Chance on Love" filled the room. "Would you care to dance?"

Bruce blinked at the outstretched hand.

"You know, dancing," Clark said. "When you move your feet to music, often with a partner? Maybe you've heard of it."

Bruce shot him a narrow look and Clark smiled unrepentantly.

"Quickstep. I lead," said Bruce, standing up. Clark rolled his eyes a bit but moved into position.

He danced as well as he sang, of course, away from anywhere he might have to pretend to be clumsy. The music moved them around the floor effortlessly, bodies close together, hips and thighs brushing now and then as they moved. Clark smiled at Bruce as though going to Grecian gay nightclubs with Batman was something he did every weekend.

It was maddening, thought Bruce. Clark had taken everything in stride from the invitation on, leaving Bruce feeling like he was scrambling to keep up. Ridiculous. He couldn't let Clark get away with this, of course. He was going to have to do something to up the ante, to make clear that Bruce Wayne was not just passively being borne along by events. Something dramatic that Clark wouldn't see coming.

Really, when he put it that way, there was only one option.

Bruce had the satisfaction of seeing Clark's eyes widen with shock in the moment before he tugged him into a clinch and captured his mouth. And then satisfaction and competition alike were forgotten in the infinite surprise of realizing he was kissing Clark Kent, and Clark was quite enthusiastic about it indeed.

Between that and keeping their dance going through the kiss, Bruce was extremely occupied for the rest of the song.

As the last chords ended, so did the kiss. There was a smattering of applause which Bruce realized belatedly was meant for them--he had forgotten about the other people in the nightclub entirely. Clark laughed and bowed, his face very pink and his breath short, and Bruce felt a bit of pride at being the cause of his flustered state.

The fact that _his own_ heartrate was extremely elevated and his face hot was incidental, of course.

"You've always got to one-up me, don't you?" Clark said under his breath as they went back to their table, his voice filled with affectionate laughter.

"Of course," Bruce said blandly.

"And does this one-upsmanship apply _everywhere_?"

"Of course," Bruce repeated.

Clark's mouth twitched, and he looked like he was resisting the temptation to say something more, then blurted, "The bedroom?"

Bruce leaned across the table confrontationally, one eyebrow raised. _"Everywhere._ "

Clark caught the waiter's eye and lifted his hand. "Check please!"


End file.
